My dear brother
by DamadiSangue
Summary: It hurts. Alex died twice in the course of her life, but this is worse. She bends forward, opens her mouth - doesn't release any sound. Stuart is a frantic voice, worried. The world shrinks to the corners, the pain becomes a dull throb that widen her lower abdomen, between her thighs. Alex bows her head and screams.


Disclaimer: Albert Wesker, Alex Wesker and all other characters belong to Shinji Mikami, Capcom and those who hold the rights. The plot described here represents the author's copyright ( DamadiSangue )

"I loved her in an odd kind of way,   
the way you love winter when you're hot in summer."  
\- V.C. Andrews -

**My dear brother**

**June, 2007**

Stuart looks at the scene as in slow motion; the Kafka's book _falls_, Master Alex's fingers tighten around her abdomen.  
She clings to the edge of the desk, distorts her facial features into a grimace of pain.  
"Master Alex." he calls, and he is immediately at her side.  
Alex thins her lips, reduces them into a thin and whitish line.  
Stuart leans on her contracted figure, sees the iris dyed a deep red, almost coagulated blood.  
"Is it the moment?"  
Alex closes her eyes and releases a cry that has nothing human.

**I sacrificed my pain to satisfy myself.**

Red _and_ red, the heart of Tricell has just stopped beating.  
Alarms destroy the silence of the laboratories, the double reinforced doors close with a light snort - _mocking._  
Puzzled scientists, _frightened._

_What's happening?_  
_Is it an emergency?_  
_Someone responds: we have rights._  
_I haven't signed up to die in a hole like this!_  
_Please, let me call my son!_

Alex turns and stares to Excella in all her _terrible_ beauty.

**June, 2007**

It hurts.  
Alex died_ twice_ during her life, but _this_ is worse.  
She bends forward, opens her mouth - doesn't release any sound.  
"Master Alex!"  
Stuart is a frantic voice, _worried._  
The world s_hrinks_ to the corners, the pain becomes a dull throb that _widen_ her lower abdomen, between her thighs.  
Alex bows her head and _screams._

**Your soul is worth a shot to satisfy my soul.**

Excella tilts her face on the left, listens to the situation report.  
"How many?" and Alex knows about what she's talking.  
She nods a few times, frowns.  
"All right, we have to close the level three. For the others activated the discharge protocol."

_Choke them with the gas and let them die like beasts._

Excella interrupts any other communications, looking straight into her eyes.

_Irritation, discomfort; a hint of relief._

"Five B.O.W., level two. One level four.

_Las Plagas 3._

"My teams are already in place."  
Alex is silent, stares to her with the same emptiness of a snake.  
"We have to move; shortly of this floor will remain nothing but concrete and blood."  
Alex turns around and surpass her without saying a word.

**June, 2007**

Stuart sustains Alex by her shoulders all the time, helps her to approach the bed in the next room.  
"Not good." Alex murmurs, and it is the first time that Stuart sees her worried "I should have warned before the pains of the prodromal stage."  
Stuart helps her to lie down, he begins to prepare the tools for the CTG.  
"Not good." Alex repeated, and overturns her head, grinding her teeth "It hurts _too_ much."  
Stuart whirls, grabs her hand suspended in midair.  
"This child is not human, Master Alex."  
She searches for his eyes, breathing heavily through clenched teeth.  
"It will be perfect, but it is_ not_ human."  
Alex nods sharply, releases a shuddering breath.  
"Make sure that everything is running as it should in the labs."  
"It will be done, Master Alex."  
The pain through her and _rips_.

**There is a darkness, I check my habit true.**

Excella follows her, she doesn't come off almost _never_ by her side.  
Alex feels nothing: neither discomfort nor anger.

_Only a quiet resignation._

She turns first to the left, then to the right; she prepares the extraction.

_Tump._

"Alex." Excella whispers, and has a scared fold her voice - _terrified._  
Alex gets back into her breast pocket her identification card, pull out the gun - stiffens her muscles.  
The level four B.O.W. is a twenty years boy with too many teeth to count them all.

**June, 2007**

Stuart swallows, brushes her forehead with his fingertips.  
"We are already at the dilating phase, Master Alex." he reassures her, and the baby's heartbeat is a regular and constant throbbing "Dilation of the cervix eight centimeters."  
"_Shit._" Alex hisses, and her brain calculates the ejection times "At this rate, the child will be out in an hour."  
Stuart licks his lips, remains calm.  
"It'll be okay, Master Alex."  
Alex swallows a lump of saliva and fear - nods.  
Between her thighs there is_ too_ much blood because this is the truth.

**I can't erase it, believing you'll come.**

"Here," and she passes the gun to Excella "It is useless for me."  
Excella grabs the gun, it slips through her fingers, wet with adrenaline and fear.  
"_Go_." Alex says, and raises her arms in a defensive position "You are in my way."  
Excella nods, grateful - stupidly happy of a delayed death.  
"I will send Jill for help."  
Alex lowered her elbows and instinctively protects her still flat abdomen.

**June, 2007**

Alex _screams_, and it's a terrible sound - sharp and full of suffering.  
She plants her heels on the bottom of the bed, opens eyes that dripping red_ and_ red - blood between clenched fingers.  
"Twelve centimeters." Stuart announces, and wonders _how_ her muscles were able to shrink so much in less than twenty minutes "Here we are, Master Alex."  
Alex leaves her head hang sideways, throws up a gush of bile and blood.  
"I can't do it." she murmurs, and_ rips _the bed board with her nails "I can't."  
"It is not true, Master Alex." Stuart says, but the baby's heart rate is becoming erratic "You can do it: you defeated death, Master Alex. You succeeded where no one has gone before. You can make it. You _have to._"  
Alex feels the Progenitor curl restless in her cell,_ fidgeting._  
He doesn't understand -_ can't._  
It is something new - a presence that had his (**their**) smell and sang his own song.  
It is something that shouldn't have happened; that _couldn't_ happen.

_Crack._

Alex puts an hand to her face and began to cry.

**There it's the notion, just between you and me.**

The B.O.W. jumps forward, Alex avoids him.  
He measure her, _studies:_ opens his mouth in a pink bristling with teeth and membranes.  
Alex moves warily, looking for a weak spot - _vibrates_ with a rage so pure as to be almost blinding.

_Defense, protection. Instincts never proven - __**prohibited.**_

Bouncing along the corridor, paint a gruesome picture of blood and skin - a red and black Picasso.  
The creature whip the air with his tongue, Alex is flattened to the ground and roll to the left -_ flees_, doesn't engage.  
The B.O.W. lunges at her with his obscene appendage, Alex discards to the side and grabs one end,_ pulls._  
The creature falls, and it is with a sharp movement of the arm that Alex tears off his tongue - _friiiiiiip_, a sound followed by a slurry of organs and mucous.  
The B.O.W. wriggles, moans,_ tries_ one last, desperate assault.  
Alex isn't fast enough and sees a trickle of blood flourish just above her navel.

**June, 2007**

"I can see its head." Stuart says, and Alex listens to the Progenitor - _his_ voice, _his_ force.  
"We are in the expulsion stage, Master Alex. The oxytocin levels are high, it shouldn't take much."  
Alex runs her fingers under her eyes, _pushes_ \- is the Progenitor to ask.  
The abdominal muscles contract, those in her lower abdomen seem to have become a vice that doesn't grant mercy.  
"You can make it, Master Alex." and Alex just wants _opens_ his head against the wall, because she_ hates_ that Stuart is _so_ reassuring, that he understood her fear.  
She hates not being able to do it alone, not being able to control the situation.  
She hates and _fears_ \- because no one has taught her what to do, _how to do_.  
She is afraid that what she will see will be a monster, a (**un**)worthy reflection of something that didn't - _shouldn't_ be there.  
She is afraid, and the pain seems to split her it in two.  
She is afraid, and alone in this - tragically relegated to a role that doesn't belong to her.

_Mother._

Alex slams her fist against the side of the bed and _pushes._

**Until the end of me, you'll be the death of me.**

_"Decontamination in progress: please, the staff must remain in their own laboratories. Thanks."_

Alex dripping gold _and_ red - a torn bracelet, beads of blood.  
Around her the armored doors re-open, come back to life the standard lighting systems.  
Hard, martial steps.  
"Doctor. Fayer."  
Alex blinked once, twice; she opens her fingers on her abdomen and _press._  
"Doctor. Fayer." recalls the voice, and the team moves restlessly behind him.  
One of the youngest already has his finger on the trigger, waiting for his captain and calculates the time.  
Alex inspires, searches.  
"Dr. Fayer, faces us with her hands up. If you have any weapons, delivers them."  
She prays, she swears; divided in half by a truth that _only_ in that moment seemed very real.  
The creaking of the leather, the sound of the weapons.  
"Turns around, Doctor Fayer. I will _not_ repeat myself a second time."  
Alex closes her lips, trying to control the tremor that shakes her knees, wrists.  
"It will not be necessary."  
Silence.  
"Doctor. Fayer is **not** infected."  
Alex slips with her fingers to the right, just above the appendix - exploring, touching, _inspects._

_She feels it._

Uncertainty, doubt: sticky wave of panic like dried blood.  
The captain of the containment team stares into the lens of his sunglasses for a few seconds, imperceptibly lowers his rifle.  
"Whatever you say, Dr. Wesker."

_Tum tum. Tum tum. Tum tum._

Alex opens her eyes, the wound a thin thread, and that opens only at the corners with each breath.

_It is alive._

Alex doesn't know whether to laugh or cry.

**June, 2007**

Alex_ screams_, but is something else that surpass her voice.  
Stuart grabs the baby with a quick gesture, severs the umbilical cord - perceives the Progenitor slide under the Master Alex skin, a nest of snakes that coil between them and _hiss_ \- an urgent sound, threatening, _demanding._  
Alex's face brightens, the muscles in her back relax - her whole body seems to become suddenly liquid.  
Stuart observes what he has in his arms, he seeks some imperfection, a flaw.

_He finds nothing._

"It's a girl." he says, and smiles, because never he would has thought of witnessing a similar event when he offered his life to Master Alex "It's a girl." repeats, and hands her to Alex.  
Alex didn'teven dare to look her in the eyes.

**You got me urging, no waiting out anymore.**

Albert stares at her wordlessly.  
He tilts his chin in her direction, studies her while she is cleaning the wound and checks what is left of it - a miserable pink streak.  
"You held back." he says, and is a observation, not a question.  
"I don't know what you're talking about."  
Albert takes off his glasses, gives her an irritated look.  
"You haven't fought at your maximum."  
"I didn't think I should."  
"You never say _no_ to a fight of that magnitude."  
Alex shrugs her shoulders, trying surpass him.  
Wesker grabs her wrist, _pulls._  
"Alexandra." he warns - _threatens._  
Alex looks at him straight in the eyes and _lies._

**June, 2007**

She hasn't given her a name, yet.  
Alex stares to that should be her daughter and doesn't know how she feels.  
She is ridiculously small, and fragile.  
She has Albert's eyes, and her skin - pale and soft.  
She looks around curiously, reaches for her.

_Mom._

Alex withdraws abruptly, puts her fingers into a fist to her mouth.  
The Progenitor sniffs the child and emits a satisfied sound.

**I'm in a maze of fears and sorrows, save me from here.**

Jill finds her like_ that_; her hands through her hair and a nude profile that emerges in the shadows of the room.  
She is used to _this_ \- to the absence of shame.  
She could't tell if it is a typical feature of creatures like them, bodies that are just hidden weapons and ruthless minds behind a pretty face, or if in particular are the two Wesker to be absolutely devoid of shame, but in the end she doesn't mind .  
A daughter of war, Jill knows the difference between what you_ want_ and what you _need_ \- including a contact that has _nothing_ ambiguous and one that tells a different story.

_And Alexandra and Albert Wesker's caresses didn't possess anything of innocent or sacred._

"I came to see the progress of the wound."

_To control you._

Alex stares over her shoulder, silent.  
"Wesker sent me."  
"I know."  
Jill breathes, feels the P30 under her skin, in her veins.

_The ambrosia of the new god._

"I must report any change in your health status."  
Alex laughs, and is a dry sound - _unpleasant._  
"What a nice man our Albert, uhm?"  
There is a dirty irony in her voice, bitter.  
Jill sits on the edge of the bed, waiting.  
Faithful dog, an animal to the chain, Alex looks at the heart of the P30 beat in the silence of the room - a quiet reddish iridescence.  
Jill runs her hands over the sheets a couple of times, smiles slightly.

_She had always loved the Egyptian cotton._

Then she suddenly stops, sniffing the air -_ her._  
She slips with her eyes on her figure, along the curve of her back, one of her side; then down towards the thighs, hamstrings, back and...  
Jill gets up abruptly, retreats.

_She knows._

Alex turns and shows her a perfect and at the same time condemned body.  
"It is not possible."  
"I thought so too."  
Jill opens her mouth, closes it - quickly hides her astonished expression.  
"**_He_**knows?"  
Alex is silent, stiffs her jaw.  
"I can't lie to him."  
"You will not do it."  
Jill swallows, stares to the slight roundness that Alexandra Wesker hides as the worst of the wounds.

**June, 2007**

Alex leans on her elbows on the edge of the sink, rejects an acid gush that burns her throat.  
The bleeding has stopped only a few minutes ago, the Progenitor heals.  
Alex touches herself between the thighs with the tip of her fingers, retracts them stained with coagulated blood and _more._  
She doesn't like what is happening to her body.  
She doesn't like the dull and throbbing ache she perceives between her legs - _God_, she needs an ice pack right now.  
She doesn't like feel her breasts_ so_ heavy, the veins slightly raised and an annoying sting around her areola, as if someone pinch them from the inside.  
She swallows, taking a sip of water and spitting it out immediately after.  
"Master Alex." joins the voice of Stuart from behind the bathroom door "I washed the baby."  
Alex inhales, the lungs that feel like sandpaper.  
"If you want to see her..."  
Stuart stops, let that sentence _there_, suspended between a question and a wish.  
Alex runs her hands through her hair, let them fall in messy waves on her shoulders, around a pale and drawn face.  
Outside, the little girl has just started crying.

**So somebody please, save me from here.**

"It happened to me."  
Alex gave her a concerned look - curious.  
Jill clutching the coffee cup that Alex offered her (always the kindest between the two. Good and bad cop, a tactic she knew well) stares to an invisible spot on the white wall.  
"With Chris, in 2005. Shortly before Spencer's death."  
Alex leans her chin on her hand, reclines into the chair.  
"He never knew."  
"It was the fall?"

_It was when you tried to kill my brother?_

"No."  
Jill takes a sip of coffee, smiles - wistful, _distant._  
"No, before. Three months, at least. I hadn't even noticed, until I have a bleeding during one of the BSAA's mission."  
Alex slides down the edge of the cup with her index finger, listens.  
"The stress, they said. A lump of just four weeks, nothing more. It was probably not even been capable of implanted properly."  
"There is nothing in your medical record."  
Jill's smile widens, she crosses her arms over her chest.  
"You are not the only ones able to keep a secret."  
"For Chris."  
"For Chris." Jill confirms.  
"Why?"  
Jill raises an eyebrow, puts her hands on her knees.  
"What difference did it make? I mean, it was gone. And his life was hard enough."  
Shame, blame.

_Villa Spencer, Rockfort Island. Russia. Processions dictated by __**one**__ god - by __**one**__ ghost._

"Why are you telling me?"  
Jill finishes her coffee, swirls what's left of it with quiet movements, controlled.  
"I don't know."  
Alex performs in a skeptical look, crosses her legs.  
"Maybe because I carried this burden alone for too long. Or maybe because I was amazed." she searches for her eyes, nails her on the spot "I was surprised that a man like Albert Wesker can be a father. And _you_ a mother. That was even_ humanly_ conceivable."  
Alex is silent, drumming her fingers on the pale wood of the desk.  
"That the fate has taken away from _me_, from _Chris_, this possibility, leaving it to _you_."  
The fingers stop, Alex maintains a neutral expression - absent.  
"How many weeks?"  
A tremor in her cheek; a tremor that stiffens the muscles in her neck.  
"We are now in the fourth month."  
Jill looks down, nods.  
"You can't hide it for long."  
Alex releases once again that laugh out of tune, rusted.  
"That's why I'm leaving."  
Jill gives her a confused look - worried.  
"You can't."

_**He**__ doesn't want._

Alex smiles, and it is a show of teeth and sadness.  
"Hush, little Jill; I will set your P30 dose so you completely forget this conversation. Yes, maybe he will break you some bones, but nothing compared to what he could do if he knew you were lying."  
A fit of anger passes through Jill - a wave that shakes her from the inside.  
Alex stands up, wrapped only in a black robe that is showing forms slightly softer - heavier breasts, abdomen less tense.  
She approaches her, touches the edges of the P30 with the tip of her fingers.  
"To the next life, _Jillian._"  
The P30 is a monster that devours everything else.

**June, 2007**

She should feed her.  
The baby cries, and is a continuous meow that irritates her.  
"Shut up." she says, and shakes her cradle "Shut up, for God's sake, _shut up_!"  
She has no patience, control - between her thighs a dull ache that remembers her _everything._  
Stuart has done it for her (milk powder, formula number one, suitable for babies like that) allowing her to take refuge in her research and her experiments.  
Three days and two hours since she was born.  
Apgar index optimal, normal values.  
The Progenitor is a silent monster and fallen asleep on the bottom of her cells - a beast that needs the death and blood to awaken.

_A tragedy that never known its dead, and write itself with the bones of the fallen._

Alex rubs her heavy eyelids, sighs.  
The first of a new race, the Chosen One: human, Tyrant, the trigger of the next weapon of mass destruction.  
Alex searches in herself _something_ \- even just a little spark - but found only a devastating void.

**Takes just a breeze to cause a storm, takes just a breath to cause a scream; it takes me to cause a tragedy.**

Four months and one week; for so long Alexandra Fayer resigned from the Tricell's laboratories.  
Discharged, then; _disappearance_, she should say.  
Excella stares to her fingernail with a puzzled look, continues to follow them with the index line of her chipped pink nail polish.  
She turns, looks at the tense line of Albert's back, his shoulders bent forward.

_A man crushed by an invisible weight._

She can't do anything, she knows.

_And that is killing her._

She tried last night, and even those before, only to find him cruelly detached - _annoyingly_ disinterested.  
Excella sighs, shakes hands together in a nervous knot - _worried_.  
Her role on the chessboard of the events has never been more uncertain.

**June, 2007**

For a while she could ignore her.  
For a while she was hiding between viruses and monsters.  
She has settled her shirt, the collar of her jacket.  
The mirror has sent her the same image, as always - or _almost._  
Under the cloth the breast is pressed - reminds her that four floor away rests what should be her daughter.

_To which she hasn't given a name, yet._

Alex takes off her shoes, entered the loft without a sound.  
_She sleeps, _Stuart has told to her s_he has just eaten. It might be a good time to... well, to know each other._  
Alex sits on the carpet next to the cradle, crosses her legs.  
The girl has a closed fist to her mouth, the other occasionally in the air.  
A blond tuft on the forehead, thin and pale lashes shade eyes that Alex _knows_ be the same as those of Albert.  
She laid a fluffy cat at the foot of the cot, gets up.  
Abandonment is, after all, a family tragedy.

**Don't wanna lose your love, instead I deal in lies.**

The Tricell's helicopter is a black and green beast that sways above Sushestvovanie.  
It shakes the grass, the sky; interrupts a horizon of snow and rock.  
"You can go." he announces to the pilot "Your services are no longer required."  
Stephen nodded, happy to be able to deliver "the package" and get away as possible from that lump of ice and angry waters - from the man who Excella Gionne has chosen to keep to her side.  
Wesker leans over the edge of the door, goes forward.  
Stephen swallows and wonders when the monsters have weared his own mask.

**June, 2007**

She is a quiet girl: a _precocious_ child.  
Alex watches her roll in the cradle and studies the room with an interested look.  
She hasn't prepared a real room, but a corner in her loft (she shudders when recalls Stuart propose to her a _horrible_ fantasy of unicorns and stars.)  
The child doesn't complain, doesn't cry - not _excessively_ so.  
She laughs, and stretches her fingers towards her.

_Mom._

It is the Progenitor to speak. It is a virus that infects everything it touches to formulate the words to her - to whispers them in the middle of the night.  
Alex raises an eyebrow, leans over the crib - curiously.  
_I made it._ and the thought hits her with a sudden clarity _This thing: I made it._  
The child emits a series of incomprehensible verses, trills that resembling another laugh.  
Alex tends a fingers toward her, leaving the girl caught it and _jerks_, showing unexpected strength.  
"Uhm." she says, and continues to touch her cheek with her finger, "Not bad."  
The girl gave her a smile so innocent to smash her heart.

**I'm calling out your name because of you - I know I feel insane.**

She not even looks up from the paper that she is reading.

_Ignores him._

Albert has surpassed Stuart - he _moved_ him, as you do with an old and annoying ornament.  
"You lied to me."  
Alex places the pen on the desk (Mont Blanc, new fountain. Masters for Meisterstück, Florence Alligator. Gold nib, rhodium finish. The dome of Santa Maria del Fiore on the cap.) crosses her fingers in front of him.  
Albert hardens his eyes, vibrates with a rage so clear to be suffocating - _beautiful._  
He resets the distance that separates them, opens his hands on her desk and look for her face, her eyes.  
"Whose is it?"  
Alex raises her head sharply, gave him a confused look - _wounded._  
"Whose is it?" Wesker repeated, and this time Alex is sure that she has understood.  
She gets up, fingers stretched toward his in a perfect replica of his_ oh so_ menacing pose.  
Wesker's pupil moves imperceptibly down, then back to her face.

_He noted the full breast, her abdomen._

"_Yours_, great dickhead." Alex hisses, and is the first thing she says in months away.  
Albert bares his teeth, _uncomfortably_ excited by her tone of voice - the virus _moans_, an alpha male crushed by the aggressiveness of the dominant female.  
"It is not possible."  
Alex approaches further, to divide them only the desk.  
"I'm the living proof."  
Wesker stiffens his jaw, the muscles in his neck.  
"The Tyrants are sterile."  
"We are not _only_ Tyrants."  
"The B.O.W. can not reproduce."  
"How many B.O.W. you know that survived the Progenitor?"  
Albert is silent, his lips reduced to a thin and pale line.  
"It is not possible." then he repeats, moving away "Body temperature should have prevented proper spermatogenesis and..."  
"Save it." she interrupts him, raising a hand in his direction, "I've already done the analysis of the case. The percentage was less than 1%, yet here we are. Spermatogenesis compromised, delayed ovulation, one plus one equals two at the end, Albert."  
Wesker dilates his nostrils, inhale forcefully.  
Alex looks up, and the blue in her eyes has never been more alive.  
"Beasts, nothing more, Albert. This we have been, and you know it."

_To compete, to run, to fight, to __**breed.**_

"It can not be mine." he reiterates, and Alex can't help herself.  
It is a moment, a flash: a fury so blind to allow her to jump over the desk and hit him so hard that he goes back one step.  
"_You son of a bitch_."  
Albert grabs her by the neck,_ tightens._  
Alex affects the skin of his wrists with her nails, biting the arch of the hand between the thumb and his forefinger, making him release a half cry.  
"No." she murmurs - _growls_ "Not this time, Albert."

_And the virus __**burns**__, becomes a female willing to do anything to protect their offspring._

Wesker dripping with blood on the gray floor, reddish and infected pearls.  
"Not this time."

_And the Progenitor speaks for him - __**with**__ him._  
_It tells an uncomfortable truth and he doesn't want to listen - it's _called,_ and this time it's a different voice, new._

_Father._

Albert Wesker moves back in front of the only enemy he can't defeat.

**June, 2007**

Stuart looks at the little girl playing with a stuffed cat, get lost in the Sushestvovanie sunset.  
She is beautiful; hair so blond they was almost white, the same eyes of Dr. Wesker.  
She laughs with a disarming simplicity, it becomes the symbol of an innocence that Wesker Children have never owned.  
Master Alex still avoids her.  
Every so often he surprises her stare for hours in the cradle, or touch briefly her cheek, but nothing more.  
_She looks scared._ he thinks, and knows that it is so.  
That little girl is something so unexpected - _dangerous_ \- that Master Alex doesn't know how to behave.  
Stuart approaches the child, rocking on his heels.  
"Hey." he says, and the girl gives him a curious look - attentive.  
"Stuart." he says, and holds out his hand "And you'll soon have a _big_ name, with which you worthily enter in the world, I am certain."  
The little girl reaches for him without any fear.

**Desire burning out of control.**

"How much?" he asks, and meanwhile slips with his fingertips around her abdomen - first up, then on the hips, lowering above the pubic line.  
Alex relaxes under his hands, closes her eyes.  
"Eight months. Soon I will enter in the ninth."  
Albert studied her with the clinical eye - scientific.  
"I would not think."  
Alex releases an asymmetrical laugh, intertwined his fingers with hers.  
"I know, yet it is so. Probably a virus effect; things like maintaining the efficiency of its host, I suppose. Or the aesthetics at this point. The Progenitor could also be an incurable vain."  
Albert hides his face in her hair, inhaling.

_Try a new flavor, different._

"You changed your smell."  
Alex nods, going with her fingers down his arms, shoulders.  
"It will not be easy."  
"I know."  
_I don't even know what to d_o, was the hidden meaning.  
"There are studied earlier. Birkin had tried, but without success."  
"Will had used the insects, Albert." and there's a irritated note in her voice, amused.  
Albert grazes her ribs, the curve of her breast - _tightens_, forcing her to release an obscene groan.  
The Progenitor _whines_ \- scratch, asks to be freed, to_ live_.  
Alex breathes on his skin, leather and cold - searches for his mouth in a wet and sloppy kiss.  
Wesker lifts her - under them files torn and a paperweight shattered.  
Alex moans, opens her thighs.

_Without shame, without modesty._

Albert emits a muffled sound, pleased.  
"You're always so _wet_, Alexandra."  
Alex searches for his eyes - red _and_ red - welcomes him in a single thrust.  
"And you are always so _eager_, Albert."  
Wesker baring his teeth in the crook of her neck - _biting_ (laps with his tongue, licks a trickle of blood and sweat) - glides with his mouth along her collarbone, around the areola, presses, snatches a sudden whine.  
Alex is soft under his hands, her lips parted - _moist._  
"Albert." a murmur - _a prayer._  
And she is beautiful, Alex.  
She is beautiful when asks for _**more**_, her reddened cheeks, his name who dies on her lips when an orgasm forced her to surrender - on her knees to him,_ with_ him.  
The Progenitor _roars_ and tells a tale of possession and power.  
He _comes_ with an unexpected intensity.

**June, 2007**

It's the first time he sees her.  
Alex studied first him, then the little girl.  
He leans slightly toward her, an imperceptible movement of his shoulders.  
"What's her name?"  
Alex plays with the bracelet around her wrist, biting her lip.  
"I haven't given a name to her, yet."  
Wesker nods thoughtfully.  
"I don't..." a breath, then another "I don't know how to call her."  
"Stuart certainly will have suggested something."  
Alex releases a dry laugh, crumpled.  
"Nothing... _adequate_."  
Albert smiles, wolf's teeth on an aristocratic face.  
"I bet something like Hilary o Chanel. Or, why not, _Melanie_."  
Alex runs a hand through her hair, smiling.  
"More or less."  
Albert spins around the little girl with slow footsteps, measured.  
The girl follows him with watchful eyes, cautious.  
Wesker is extended toward her, lifting and bringing her to the same height.  
"Eve." he says, letting the little girl touches his glasses, his face -_ memorizes_ him "Eve is the right name."  
Alex joins them, caresses her blond and now long hair.  
Eve laughs at the sound of her own name.

**To satisfy myself, you're killing off my heart.**

There is something that rolls up at the center of his chest - between his thighs.  
There is something that makes him suddenly _powerful_ \- making him hard again.  
Albert Wesker has always saw himself as an educated man, intelligent; a man whose mental capacity exceeded over those biological.

_Progenitor._

He has always been on top of the other, of the_ mass;_ of that set of confused voices and bodies that died a little every day - that continued to be dominated by lower and _stupid_ instincts.

_Progenitor._

That is why he doesn't understand - doesn't _want_ to do it.  
That is why he doesn't understand what drives him to look for her - again, **always.**  
What, if nothing more than a primitive and animal istinct - _wild._

_Progenitor._

Alex is between his legs - a demanding tongue, a desire that led him to bent her on her knees and push her until he hears the_ crack_ under his hands.

_Progenitor._

The New Race is nothing more than a handful of creatures that clash (fight, live, _fuck_) like wild and untamed beasts.

**June, 2007**

"You didn't breastfeed her."  
Alex gives him a puzzled look, confused.  
"No."  
Albert nods, follows with his eyes Stuart delivered a baby bottle, already full.  
"Why?"  
Stuart gave Alex an evasive look, is dismissed with a quick wave of her hand.  
"I don't like it."  
"You don't know."  
Alex stops, shrinks the jaw in a nervous tic.  
She doesn't like the tone of his voice - she _knows_ it, and she doesn't like it at all.  
"I'm not a breeding cow,_ Albert_."  
She lowers herself towards Eve, picks her up.  
Albert's hands close on her shoulders, _slide down_.  
"It is not that difficult."  
Alex holds her breath, tightening her fingers around the bottle.  
"It should be a _natural_ act..."  
Cold lips down her neck, wet.  
"Nothing to be _ashamed_ of..."  
One by one the buttons of her shirt hanging inert, the cold air of Sushestvovanie that touches her abdomen, her skin.  
Wesker glides the clavicle line with his index finger, he flatters the underlying black lace -_ tightens_, detroys it with an abrupt gesture.  
"You should know... the _problems_ that you can encounter."  
Alex's knees give way, Wesker is faster and supports both - she and Eve.  
"No." she murmurs, but it is a fragile sound, without strength - scraping on the edges.  
Albert _laughs_, and it's a terrible sound - dull and dark.  
He is massaging the soft curve of her breast with regular movements and slides casually around the areola, the nipple.  
He whispers into her hair, calms her concerns -_ soothes._  
Alex pants, licks her lips.  
"Do it." he whispers and _growls_ his desire down her back, between her thighs.  
"_Do it_, Alexandra."  
Wesker presses, snatches an obscene groan from her - whitish and milky spots on the black fabric.  
Alex bends forward, drops the bottle on the floor.

_Crash._

Eve is distracted by the sudden noise, soon returns to her primary goal and looks for Alex's breast - with all the voracity typical of a child who want to live - to _conquer_.  
"Good girl." praises Albert "You are my little, _good_, sister." he strokes her vertebrae one by one - his tongue a wet trail along the line of her neck.  
Alex closes her eyes, repressing a shudder.  
The Progenitor is rolled up in her lower abdomen and _drips._

**But never reach again; all I can do is always feel my pain.**

Alex reflectes herself in a dark mirror, look for a profile that she no longer knows.  
She studied her body, her face.  
The Progenitor was a generous parasite and fortified an otherwise fragile -_ weak_ body.  
It has raised to protector of something difficult to conceive, even more to deal with.  
It has_ strengthened_ her vital signs, _fed_ a poised system.  
It fought for its legacy, for all that it represented - for which it was programmed.  
Alex is overwhelmed by a wave of nausea, because **_this_** was Spencer's dream, not hers.

Stolen children, _torn._  
Grown children, young adults _saddled_ and then trained as racehorses.  
Trained men and women, _constructed_; hybridized like stallion.  
Other children sacrificed - the sons of perfection, the Chosen Race; the vanguard of a new world (the knights of a putrid old man with no more dreams.)

Alex closes her eyes, releases a ragged breath - _broken._  
Albert is a shadow behind her, teeth bared and a hand clasped around her neck.

_The cruel metaphor of a relationship made of bites and injuries._

They haven't been _manufactured_ for this.  
They weren't born -** ever**, a right that has been taken away along with their name.  
Albert crushes her against the mirror, asks - _demands._

_Two snakes that coil, struggle, split and then return to clash - to look for._

It is not a blessing, a miracle.  
Inside her grows something monstrous, a creature that can destroy them all - the first child, the last.

_Eve and all her terrible force - daughter of the Serpent._

She kisses him - he accepts her.  
Among them a virus that always repeats the same tragedy of death and blood.

**October, 2007 - It's why I give it up; this soul is worth a shot to satisfy my soul.**

Eve seeks him, _challenges_ him.  
Ridiculously small, absurdly arrogant - Eve is a child who brings death in her eyes and ashes in her heart.  
She play with a Cerberus five times more than her, makes him a docile puppy.  
Albert observes with watchful eyes, neutral.  
"Remarkable."  
Stuart moves his eyes away between Wesker and baby - _listens_.  
Alex crosses her arms over her chest, nodding.  
"And this is nothing; think of what she can do when she grows up."  
Wesker studies her laugh when the Cerberus capsizes belly up, give him a series of slaps on the nose, down his neck.  
Wesker moved up suddenly, martial steps, which cut the wet grass.  
Eve turns, Cerberus with her - _growls._  
Albert's pupil _shrinks_, the iris _burns_ \- the Cerberus lowered his ears and takes refuge behind his mistress.  
Eve stares to the dog, then to Wesker.  
For a moment both remain silent, look to each other.  
Eve is the first to surrender, and holds out her little arms to the menacing and looming figure, dressed in all black.  
_Father_, she calls, and Wesker tilts his chin in her direction.  
_Father_, she repeats, the pupil that _vibrates_ \- seems almost melt.  
Wesker releases the Progenitor and responds.

_Eve._

The New Era has just begun.

**It's our nature to destroy ourselves.**  
**It's our nature to kill ourselves.**  
**It's our nature to kill each other.**  
**It's in our nature to kill, kill, kill.**

_You're born into greatness,_ said his father.  
_You're born in a tragedy,_ added her mother.

_The world is too small for you,_ said his father.  
_The world is the hunter and you're the prey,_ was the replica of her mother.

_You were born to dominate and conquer_, his father's dreams.  
_You were born to conceal, confuse; to live in the shadow of a humanity that doesn't deserve you,_ the truth of her mother.

_You will kill, you will slaughter; you will make great our name - our history_, his father thought.  
_You will kill, you will slaughter; you will not have another chance - no choice,_ the concern of his mother.

_You're my daughter, after all,_ the undisguised pride of his father, his eternal** hunger** for everything.  
_You're my daughter, after all_, his mother's uncertainty, **haunted** eyes and full of everything

Eve stares to a pale sky, white at the edges where the clouds hide it.

_Inconsistent._

Someone calls (_Megan, come back: the cake is almost ready_); someone remembers her half life - a mask she is wearing every day.

_"We will come back to you. __**For**__ you."_

Eve stares to the butterfly she holds in her hands, its last beats - torn wings, _broken._  
She turns it between her fingers, curls one side of her mouth - a cruel smile.  
She _crushes_ and puts an end to its suffering - to a (**non**) life_._  
The pupil _quivers,_ shrinks like that of a snake, expands - back to fully round.

_"Wait for__** us**__, Eve."_

Eve abandons its carcass on the edge of the river and listen to the only voice that has ever kept her company from the beginning.

_Progenitor._

The virus dangles between her thoughts and whispers.

**"The future you have, tomorrow, **  
**won't be the same future you had yesterday." **  
**\- Chuck Palahniuk -**


End file.
